


i walked with you once upon a dream

by 10FTW



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, captain america: the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: Brief Mention of Violence, CA:TWS, M/M, Second person POV, brief mention of natasha, eventually got into forming actual sentences, just some thoughts i wrote down at a godless hour in the morning, this is my first fic, um ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 15:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2698106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10FTW/pseuds/10FTW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Flashing lights... the noise of boardwalk games... wood under your feet... a laugh formed into a name... ‘C’mon Buck!’  </em>Your<em> name?</em></p><p>No. Not your name. You have no name. You are the asset. A weapon. Nothing more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i walked with you once upon a dream

**Author's Note:**

> um, yeah  
> this is my first fic  
> leave any comments/suggestions  
> i moved up the rating for a brief mention of violence

It was supposed to be a regular mission.  The details were not your usual. Flashy and public, not the smooth, silent ops you were usually sent on. Two targets, level six. Physical confrontation required. Your mind briefly wanders to the man on the roof. Fingers snap in front of your vision. A hand is whipped across your face and you let the action knock you over. The assignment is repeated, two targets, level six. This time the level six attracts your attention. You focus and hear something about enhancements and KGB. There’s why. You wonder if one of your targets is the man on the roof, and for some reason the thought unsettles you. You recall his unusual strength and his summer blue eyes.

_Laying in the grass... looking up at a clear sky... someone’s hand on your stomach... sprawled together in the heat of the afternoon_

You pull yourself out of the thought before the other men can notice.

It is the man, and you can feel that pull from deep within your chest. It was there on the roof too, and it made emotion flare up when you saw the man on the roof with out his shield. It looked wrong, like he was missing a limb. You threw the shield back.

 _You’re pulled up from the metal table and he’s towering_ over _you... it’s wrong, all wrong... the bridge falls and you feel hopelessness consume you... look up, face falling, and meet the summer blue eyes_

The pull attaches itself to the woman with hair like flames, to match the ones boiling under her skin, but its much weaker, more protective.

 _Flashing lights... the noise of boardwalk games... wood under your feet... a laugh formed into a name... ‘C’mon Buck!’  Is it_ your _name?_

No. Not your name. You have no name. You are the asset. A weapon. Nothing more.

He'a fast, faster than you, and stronger too and he uses the shield as an extension of his body. You want to get your hands on it, and suddenly they are.

_You wrap your arms around a skinny, shivering body... whisper careful comforts and careless promises_

Your mind is awash in emotion and memories, but your body acts on instinct, buried memories tell you to carry out the assignment. You feel yourself flip, but the first thing you notice is the freedom around your neck and mouth. Every muscle in your body is screaming to run, but that relentless pull in the recesses of your chest makes you turn around.

_The musky scent of sweat is all around you... others complain... you don't mind... it's always meant that the worst of the fever has broken_

You hear his voice, the voice of the laughs and cries and screams and gasps in your mind. The voice that forms the word... the name... _your_ name?

“Bucky?”

_Bucky... bucky... buck... ‘Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes at your service'_

You have never spoken without instruction, but this voice, that triggers the feelings—

_A warm body pressed against yours... the bitter tang of something burning in your mouth... weariness and pain down to your bones, but you can’t stop walking... or looking to your left_

The words get pulled out. They are forced by something beyond and before _(a before? yes)_ your instinct. You watch as they shatter the man in front of you.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”


End file.
